FYM CH17: It’s very nice

When the sickly Cheng Ye saw Jiang Shi eating, he pulled over a chair, sat down across from him, and began finishing off the cold fried potatoes Jiang Shi had left.

Jiang Shi was dumbfounded. “Those potatoes are already cold.”

Even though he had only taken a small bite, he had eaten from that plate. For Cheng Ye to eat what he left behind… what was that supposed to mean?

“It’s edible.” Cheng Ye glanced at him. “Jiang Shi, eat quietly, don’t talk.”

Jiang Shi: “…”

So now he’s lecturing me?

He stretched out his foot under the table, wanting to kick Cheng Ye, but misjudged the force. With a loud bang, the whole table tilted a little.

The two roommates who had been reading silently raised their eyes and looked over, only to see Cheng Ye calmly push the tilted table back into place, pat the dust off his pants, and then say, “If you don’t eat now, it’ll get cold.”

…The roommates quietly looked away. Clearly, they didn’t understand.

Jiang Shi: “…”

After a while, his temper had been worn down by Cheng Ye. Too lazy to argue further, he just lowered his head and continued eating.

Jiang Shi had a small appetite. Even after eating until he was full, half his food remained. He let out a small burp and stared at the leftovers, then—against his better judgment—glanced at Cheng Ye.

Cheng Ye tossed the empty potato box into the trash, then very naturally reached out his hand. “Give it to me.”

Jiang Shi blinked blankly, then handed it over.

Cheng Ye polished off the leftover potatoes, then started eating Jiang Shi’s unfinished dinner.

He ate quickly, scooping down half in just a few bites. Before Jiang Shi even realized what was happening, Cheng Ye was nearly done.

“Wait—this is my leftovers!” Jiang Shi protested.

Cheng Ye didn’t care. “Can’t waste food.”

But… not like this!

Jiang Shi tried to be tactful. “If you’re short on money, I can buy you your own meal.”

Cheng Ye downed the soup and rice in a few more bites, tossed the empty box away, and even wiped Jiang Shi’s desk clean with a paper napkin. “No need. I’m full.”

Jiang Shi: “…”

When their two roommates left with their basins to wash up, the dorm quieted down. A tiny bug circled under the light.

The black jacket Jiang Shi had tossed aside was picked up by Cheng Ye. He squatted in front of Jiang Shi, looking up. His voice was softer now, stripped of the dominance he had just shown, carrying a hint of pleading.

“Young Master, try it on, let me see if it fits.”

Though the words were a request, the way he drew out “Young Master” in that half-youthful, half-maturing low, hoarse voice made Jiang Shi’s ears go numb.

He dared not meet Cheng Ye’s burning gaze. Shifting sideways, he muttered, “No.”

Cheng Ye pressed again: “Without the tag, we really can’t return it. But if it doesn’t fit, we could still exchange it. If you don’t try it on and it doesn’t fit, then it’ll truly be wasted.”

Jiang Shi’s gaze flickered.

Cheng Ye continued, “You already bought it. Just put it on once.” Then, lowering his voice even more, he pleaded again: “Please?”

Snatching the jacket, Jiang Shi snapped harshly, “I’m telling you, this is the last time. If you’ve got money, you should fix yourself up first. Your clothes and pants are so short it’s embarrassing. Who wants your stuff anyway?”

The boy, raised in wealth, had never learned how to soften his words—his unintentional bluntness was sharp and cutting. Yet Cheng Ye didn’t seem to feel any sting. He just stared at Jiang Shi.

“Alright. Just try it on.”

His eyes burned too hot. Jiang Shi’s fingers tingled under that gaze. He didn’t know why, but faced with that intensity, the refusal stuck in his throat.

Finally, Jiang Shi hooked the jacket from Cheng Ye’s hand.

The black fabric made his skin look even paler, its clean cut bringing out his striking sharpness—yet the tilt of his eyes added a subtle, languid allure.

Just as Cheng Ye imagined: Jiang Shi looked perfect.

Cheng Ye’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His tall frame, taut with restraint, seemed to crouch before Jiang Shi like a dog tugging against its chain—veins bulging with the effort to hold back.

“You look… amazing.” His voice was hoarse.

The intensity of that stare made Jiang Shi’s whole body tingle—from his fingertips all the way to his tailbone. His heartbeat skipped. Acting on instinct, he tore off the jacket after only a few minutes. “I’m not a girl. What’s so ‘amazing’ about it?”

“You’re prettier than a girl.”

Though Jiang Shi was vain, being told this still made him kick Cheng Ye.

The two roommates had just come back from washing up: “…”

One of them whispered, “Jiang Shi, we’re all classmates, you should learn to be more tolerant.”

Jiang Shi: “…”

So annoying.

He grabbed his basin and left to wash up.

Cheng Ye, now with a footprint on him, trailed after.

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Cheng Ye somehow managed to transfer into Class Three, sitting right behind Jiang Shi, his own desk.

Jiang Shi’s routine stayed the same—listening when he could, sleeping or playing on his phone when he couldn’t. But every time he glanced back, that familiar figure was always there.

Soon, another weekend arrived. Cheng Ye had to go home to repay money, and Jiang Shi followed.

Their little “tail,” Gao Xinhe, also went along.

The three squeezed into the back row of the minibus. Gao Xinhe tilted his head, looking at Cheng Ye. “Bro, why is it that even though we both have buzz cuts, yours looks different from mine?”

Cheng Ye: “Because you’re ugly.”

Gao Xinhe: “…”

He kept chattering. “It’s all my dad’s fault, bad genes. The girls in class said these days you can get plastic surgery. Maybe I should fix my nose—”

He cut off when Cheng Ye gave him a look.

Turning, he saw Jiang Shi asleep by the window, wearing a black jacket he’d never seen before. Sunlight streamed in, casting shadows beneath his long lashes.

Gao Xinhe closed his mouth.

Cheng Ye shifted slightly. As time passed, Jiang Shi leaned closer, eventually resting against his shoulder.

A cool wind blew in through the cracked window, lifting the strands of hair from Jiang Shi’s forehead. From up close, Cheng Ye noticed a tiny mole at the tip of Jiang Shi’s nose, like an accidental stroke of ink on a painting.

Feeling chilled, Jiang Shi instinctively nestled deeper, his face buried almost against Cheng Ye’s neck.

Cheng Ye lowered his eyes. His shoulder bore Jiang Shi’s head, his nose brushed his neck, each warm breath seeping into his collarbone, flooding into his chest—scalding him, his blood roaring like it wanted to burst free. Yet outwardly, he held back.

His gaze, however, was anything but restrained—scanning, devouring.

If looks could strip, Jiang Shi would already be naked, pale skin exposed, body broken open under him. That little mole would be sucked red.

Cheng Ye raised a hand, shielding Jiang Shi’s eyes from the sunlight.

His own gaze went dark.

Mine.

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As soon as they arrived home, Cheng Ye repaid the debt. The loan sharks said nothing, but the villagers who received the money kept circling him, curious where he’d gotten it.

Cheng Ye said nothing. He simply repaid and went home.

But word traveled fast. Soon, Gao Quan heard a twisted version:

That Cheng Ye had done something shady overnight and earned ten thousand.

Terrified, Gao Quan immediately asked his son Gao Xinhe.

Xinhe, eating with a full mouth, looked bewildered. “What money? Cheng-ge has money? He already paid it back? Damn, is mining really that profitable?”

Gao Quan: “…”

He slapped his idiot son, then went looking for Cheng Ye.

He arrived to find the tall boy bent over tidying up the house. At the doorway sat someone cracking melon seeds, casually ordering him around. “Those ragged bags? Useless. Toss them!”

Cheng Ye pulled the bags out of the corner and turned—only to see Gao Quan in the yard. “Uncle Gao, why are you here?”

Jiang Shi also stood up, looking at the ordinary-faced man with confusion but kept silent.

Gao Quan had seen Jiang Shi once, the night he got lost. So it was normal Jiang Shi didn’t recognize him. He greeted, “You’re Jiang Shi, right? I’m Gao Xinhe’s dad. By seniority, you should call me Uncle.”

Jiang Shi obediently: “Hello, Uncle.”

Cheng Ye glanced at him.

Gao Quan signaled to Cheng Ye. “Xiao Ye, come here. I need a word with you.”

Knowing why he came, Cheng Ye shoved the disliked bags into a basket, dusting off his hands. “Uncle, whatever you need to say, just say it. Jiang Shi’s not an outsider.”

Gao Quan hadn’t realized the two had gotten this close. Still, he stepped forward. “I heard you already paid back the money? But it hasn’t been that long. Where did you get it? You’re still young—money can wait, don’t…”

Cheng Ye cut him off. “I borrowed it.”

Gao Quan paused. “From who? Who’d lend you that much?”

“Jiang Shi.”

Jiang Shi: “…”

Under Gao Quan’s stare, Jiang Shi forced a dry laugh. “I… had it.”

Gao Quan: “…”

Jiang Shi’s background had been carefully hidden by Jiang Xue, but Gao Xinhe’s mom, close with her, had shared bits and pieces.

One look at Jiang Shi’s bearing was enough to tell the Song family of Jiangcheng was no ordinary household.

Yet for him to casually pull out twenty thousand to help someone he’d just met—not sure whether to admire Jiang Shi’s wealth or Cheng Ye’s luck.

Satisfied, Gao Quan stopped probing. “I just didn’t want you going down the wrong path. Since that’s the case, I’ll head back. Come play with Xinhe sometime.”

Once he left, Cheng Ye tapped the cabinet nearby. “Young Master, do you still want this cupboard?”

Jiang Shi looked over. “You’re tossing even the cupboard?”

“You’ve been sitting at my doorstep since the start, criticizing everything. I thought you were going to throw out everything in my house.”

Jiang Shi flicked melon seed shells at his face. “Get lost.”

Cheng Ye laughed.

The next second, Jiang Shi’s phone rang.

He glanced at the unfamiliar number and answered.

“Song Shi…” A familiar voice came through, lazy but dripping with malice. “Long time no see.”

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